


it scares you being alone (it's a last resort)

by restless5oul



Series: yesterday we were just children [7]
Category: Formula 1 RPF, GP2 Series RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood, Character Study, Heartache, Heavy Angst, Injury, M/M, References to Depression, Sadness, Some characters appear v briefly, dealing with grief poorly, i like pierre really, pretty dark tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 20:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restless5oul/pseuds/restless5oul
Summary: human extinction brings out the worst in all of us.





	it scares you being alone (it's a last resort)

Stoffel couldn’t have said when Pierre had changed, when he evolved from that beautiful, incredibly dorky, awkward, kind boy into something else. Something colder, harder, meaner. Someone he still loved, but didn’t necessarily recognise anymore. It could have happened instantly and simply taken Stoffel months to notice. Or it could have been a gradual change. A little part of his old self being chipped away until something entirely different remained, the hard core beneath a softer exterior. Sometimes when Stoffel looked at Pierre, it felt like looking at a stranger.

It was odd. To look at Pierre and still remember the pretty way he’d blushed when Stoffel had finally worked up the courage to ask him out, egged on by one too many shots and their overenthusiastic friends. He had convinced himself that he had done it to get his friends to shut up about how obviously head over heels they were for each other, and how longing stares and Facebook stalking wasn’t going to get him anywhere. But honestly he had just needed the excuse. And though he was convinced Pierre was going to say no, the breathless way he’d said yes had made the cheers they had to endure from their friends entirely worthwhile.

He didn’t look at him and see the boy who had taken the time to memorise his coffee order just so he could wait for him before his 9am lectures and hand it to him. He didn’t see the boy who had downloaded every crappy Belgian film he could find on the internet, just so they could watch them when Stoffel was feeling homesick. And he didn’t see the boy whose eyes had welled up with tears when Stoffel had first told him he loved him.

Maybe it was too much to expect all the awful things that had happened not to change Pierre. And maybe it was selfish, but he missed what he used to be, and what they used to have. He didn’t love him any less. He just didn’t understand him anymore. He didn’t know how to make things better.

It had taken them almost two weeks to find the spot the coordinates on the radio had been pointing towards. At first they travelled in the ambulance, and though it was quicker, the great lumbering vehicle was too loud and drew too much unwanted attention. After too many nights in which they were startled awake by the sounds of someone, or something, banging against the side of the van, they abandoned it, and travelled the rest of the way on foot. But Stoffel didn’t know how to sleep deeply anymore, his mind always alert, ready to spring into action at any moment. That was the latest thing that this apocalypse had stolen from him. After his life and his future, Stoffel watched as the number of things he could say were his dwindled until he could count them on one hand. 

He had Mitch. But most of his friends existed with a heavy question mark hanging over their heads. They could be safe, but they could just as easily be gone, stolen in the first few days of chaos, when the death toll had been insurmountable. His family was much the same. He had hope, probably too much, that they were safe, that this madness hadn’t spread beyond the borders of the island he now called home. But with no way to contact them, he could just as easily be wrong. While he might have had Pierr;, he could hold him, and he could reach out and feel his steady heartbeat beneath his chest, their awful new world had stolen everything innocent about him. It had stolen the easiness and comfort that used to define the two of them. Their relationship was punctuated by awkwardness and a million words they wanted to say, but didn’t know how.

In those weeks they travelled Pierre seemed to withdraw further and further into himself. And Stoffel felt powerless to stop it. What did you say to someone who had lost the only family member they had left? What could you say when they believed it was all their fault? Stoffel wanted to tell him that wasn’t true. But the haunted look in his eyes read pure blame and guilt. And somehow he knew that his words wouldn’t get through.

The place they had been travelling towards, it transpired, was an old NATO base, repurposed and taken over by a ragtag mixture of people – ex-army, the dregs of their government, doctors, lawyers, civil servants, teachers, and anyone else who had heard the call over the airwaves. But it was no sanctuary. It was no place to lay low, to relax. Everyone who came was expected to play their part, in protecting the acres of land they had secured, in planning, in building, in fighting. Only those too young, or too frail where exempt.

Getting in wasn’t easy. There were questions to be answered, and they all had to be examined in turn, and Stoffel felt at any minute they might be turned away. Told that they weren’t worthy of protection, that they were better left to the ravenous hordes of the undead. But eventually they were permitted to join the camp, which Stoffel had realised was one of many. There couldn’t have been more than three or four hundred people living in theirs. Morbidly, he couldn’t have but wondered how many hadn’t survived, or hadn’t made it as far as them.

Instead of abandoned houses and shops, the four of them that had travelled together now lived in two tents amongst the rows and rows that had been set up. The whole setup gave everything a sense of impermanence, like it might be uprooted and taken away at any moment. And he should have felt safe, amongst humans, knowing that there was a ten-foot perimeter fence keeping danger out. But nothing about it comforted Stoffel.

Mark found Fernando in the hanger that had been turned into a makeshift hospital, and he had been quickly assigned the job of taking care of the sick and wounded. With every new arrival – every few days or so – they nearly always seemed to bring with them someone who needed their care. And rarely did they get better, with supplies and medication so low.

Though he was far from a qualified engineer, once Stoffel mentioned that’s what he had been studying to become, very quickly he had been told to join the tiny group of people working tirelessly on building some kind of communication with the outside world. Despite feeling horribly out of his depth, his desperation for knowledge of the wider world spurred him on. It sent him crawling to his hard camp bed each night, collapsing exhausted beneath the covers, only to wake up less than six hours later to do the whole thing again.

It was much the same for Pierre and Mitch. Their youth and fitness earning them a place on the guard who stalked the perimeter of the camp twenty-four hours a day, sounding the alarm if necessary. Sometimes they were sent out in groups to find more food, or on reconnaissance; though what they were looking for, neither could say. It was back breaking work, their long hours and physical work meaning Stoffel could go days without speaking to either of them. But with very small numbers of young people turning up at the gates of the camp, there weren’t many who could share their burden.

If Stoffel thought that keeping busy - the mind numbing routine - would help Pierre, would help him, then he was sorely mistaken. Pierre may have thrown himself into the task at hand, pushing himself to the brink of fatigue, but it was this that made him tougher, and colder. He now buried any sign of weakness so deep inside Stoffel almost believed that this stony front he put up was real. But he knew him too well for that. 

Any attempt to talk, to get something real from his boyfriend, to invite him to let go, just for a moment, was rebuffed. Even on the nights when they found themselves with a few precious hours to spend alone, the affection and tenderness had been replaced by something impersonal, something mechanical. Holding Pierre in his arms felt stiff and detached, and when he kissed and touched Stoffel it was just as though he was going through the motions, his heart completely separate from the actions of his body. They were both desperately searching from something they couldn’t find anymore, there was no warmth, and it all left Stoffel feeling cold and empty. He could see in Pierre’s eyes that he was as numb as he was. And though it broke his heart they persisted.

Numb and detached was one thing. But Stoffel hadn’t needed Mitch to tell him that there was something dangerous about Pierre now. He was so good at his job because he seemed to have lost all sense of self preservation and respect for his own safety.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Mitch had warned him, his eyes earnest with worry, pleading with Stoffel to do something, to talk some sense into him. He was supposed to be the only person who could. But he didn’t have the heart to tell Mitch that he didn’t think that was true anymore. He had to trust Pierre wouldn’t. He just wasn’t entirely sure whether he could anymore.

Though he willed it not to be so, it took just a matter of months for Stoffel’s fears to be confirmed.

“Stoff!” he could barely hear the voice calling his name over the sound of the handsaw he held in his hand, carefully, precisely cutting through equally sized sections of metal wire. It wasn’t until he felt a firm hand shaking at his shoulder that his attention was diverted and he looked up, nearly dropping the saw in the process.

It was Maxi, the only other young engineer Stoffel worked with. He was a few years younger than him, and it had been his age and his inexperience that had led to the two of them striking up a friendship, banding together against the small team of real engineers who set them mundane and often repetitive tasks. He was very serious for his age, but reliable and steady for that, and he was smart, but there wasn’t a whiff of arrogance surrounding him. Unusually, and in a case that Stoffel was convinced had to be unique, he had shown up at the gates of the camp all by himself, a month after their group. He had never asked him how he managed it on his own, and there was a look in his eyes that said that wasn’t information he was going to give up easily.

“It’s Pierre,” was all he said, and Stoffel felt his face drop from the smile he had worn when he had looked up initially.

Though he hadn’t noticed at first, there was someone else stood behind Maxi. A young man – or more likely, just a boy – with an impish face, that might have looked mischievous had he not sported an expression of pure anxiety on his youthful features. He recognised him as one of the two pages at their camp, whose sole task was to deliver messages between the different sections of the camp. He had never stopped to look at any of them properly, not that you could, he didn’t think any of them stood still for even a second.

“He was hurt while they were on patrol,” the boy piped up, fiddling with his hands, looking very much like he didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. Stoffel didn’t know if it was possible for hearts to stop beating, but in the few seconds after he spoke he was sure his ceased to do so, his bloods sloshing about uselessly in his veins, his lungs immobile in his chest, the ability to breathe leaving him. It all hit him in one second as he took a large gulp of air, gasping as he tried to think rationally, telling himself to get to his feet and find Pierre. As difficult as things had got he was the most important person he had left, and he didn’t think he could bear it if anything bad happened to him.

“Where is he?” he asked the boy, rising to his full height, surprising himself with how calm and level his voice sounded.

“In the infirmary, I can take you there,” he said, clearly sensing the urgency from Stoffel, as he turned on his heels straight away, hurrying from the large tent they were stood in. Stoffel made to follow him, but paused, turning, remembering the unfinished work that sat at the desk which had become his own.

“It’s ok. I’ll let them know it’s an emergency. Don’t worry,” Maxi reassured him, sounding so confident that Stoffel felt secure knowing that he had it handled.

“Do you know what happened?” he asked the page as they both made their way across the vast field, weaving their way between the tents and trucks that were parked haphazardly. Much of the setup was in temporary army issue tents, the official line was that this was so they could dismantle everything and leave quickly if needs be. But Stoffel strongly suspected that most of the buildings were used for things that they had no right to know about, and by people far more important than themselves.

“No sorry,” he said as they broke into a half run/jog, earning them a few odd looks from passers-by, “I saw them bring him in. That doctor you came with, he’s with him, but I’ve seen you two together, and Maxi said you worked with him, so I knew where you’d be. I just, uh, thought you’d want to be with him. So I came to find you.”

The boy heaved open the sliding door to the hangar that had been repurposed into an infirmary, filled with rows and rows of beds, the vast majority of them occupied. All the commotion was at the far end of the nearest row to them, a crowd of people stood around a couple of beds, dashing around in a frenzy.

“Thank you,” Stoffel said to the boy, who just nodded in response before dashing off again.

Stoffel took a moment to steady himself, taking a deep breath, before he hurried down the row, trying his hardest not to look at the people occupying the beds he sped past, all of them looking grimly pale, emitting a kind of hopelessness that only death could conjure up.

“Stoff!” he saw Mitch instantly, hovering at the ends of one of the beds, trying to stay out of the way of the doctors and nurses. He still carried his standard issue gun around his back, and with a jolt Stoffel saw a deep red stain on the front of his dark green shirt; the same one that all those like him had to wear. Mitch seemed to notice where his eyes had travelled.

“It’s not mine,” he said quickly, “Stoff he…” 

He didn’t say anything else because he didn’t need to. Stoffel had caught sight of Pierre in the bed behind Mitch. Rather rudely, he pushed his way past his friends, dropping to his knees at the bedside, his eyes scanning his body, trying to assess what damage had been done.

Most of the commotion was at the second bed, but Stoffel hadn’t given them another look, his mind only able to see Pierre. He was lying on his back, his face contorted in discomfort and pain. The shirt he wore, the same as Mitch’s, had been torn open, revealing a large gash across his stomach, a tear in the otherwise unblemished white skin. It didn’t look very deep, but it was wide enough to overwhelm Stoffel with the feeling of intense nausea. The initial fear that whatever had happened would be life threatening had vanished, but Stoffel knew that kind of injury would leave a scar to match the ones Pierre already had running up and down the length of his forearms.

A doctor was busy tending to the wound, which seemed to have mostly stopped bleeding, and was telling Pierre that he was going to need stitches.

“I need you to relax Mr Gasly, this won’t hurt too much,” she said in that calm voice that they seemed to teach at medical school, reading his name from the patch he wore on his shirt.

“His name’s Pierre,” Stoffel found himself saying, reaching out for his hand, feeling relieved when he felt his boyfriend hold on tight, realising that he had been scared that he might have pulled away. Or worse still, simply indulged Stoffel but made no move to reciprocate.

He held on tight as the doctor worked away, watching Pierre’s face closely, but his expression remained stoic, and if it wasn’t for the way his teeth were gritted, it would have been easy to believe that he felt no pain at all. They both thanked the doctor before she moved away, joining the crowd, which included Mark, around the next bed. Stoffel leant in, pressing his lips to Pierre’s forehead softly, the taste of salty sweat and dirt clingy to his mouth, feeling another wave of relief when he felt Pierre soften at the action. 

“What happened?” he whispered, brushing loose strands of hair away from his face.

“You scared the shit out of me there Pear,” Mitch said before Pierre could speak, looking extremely tired as he knelt on the floor at the other side of the bed, dark shadows visible under his eyes even on his tanned skin. Though he seemed calmed by the fact that he was alright, there was a hint of annoyance underlining his tone.

“Sorry,” Pierre mumbled, closing his eyes, wrapping his fingers around Stoffel’s wrist, holding it in place against his forehead.

“You know what he did?” Mitch continued, addressing Stoffel instead of the young man in question, “We come across this massive hoard of zombies, like way too many. Our team leader said to just forget about the food, to leave, to get out of there as fast as we could. And Pierre just heads straight towards them. In the _completely_ opposite direction to the rest of us. I don’t know what he was thinking, me and Pascal had to pull him out of there, the fucking idiot. Nearly got us all killed.”

Stoffel could tell that Mitch was genuinely upset about what had happened, and was trying to mask it with his frustration, but struggling badly. And as much as it frustrated him to hear him talk about Pierre like he wasn’t lying in between them, it was completely baffling to hear what he’d done. He stared at his boyfriend, looking for some kind of reaction, but his expression was blank.

“I’m right here Mitch, don’t talk about me like I’m invisible,” was all he muttered, sounding only half as bothered by this whole situation as either of the boys sitting by his side.

“What were you thinking?!” Mitch said, reaching his boiling point, nearly shouting by now, making the doctors from the bed – which Stoffel had to guess was Pascal’s – look over at him.

“ _Mitch_ ,” Stoffel warned, his voice low, making Mitch cower a little, visibly reigning it in. But it seemed like the events of the day had gotten to the Kiwi.

“Sorry, I’m just-…you know where to find me,” he mumbled, ungracefully clambering to his feet, before raising his hand in a lazy wave as he wandered off, yawning as he went. Stoffel stared at his retreating back for a few seconds, quite surprised by his anger towards his friend, but he knew that it was fear and worry that lay under it all. When he looked back at Pierre he saw that his eyes were still closed, and he wore an expression on his face like he was thinking very hard. 

“ _Pierre_ ,” he sighed softly, the weight of the world hanging off that one word, “Why?”

His boyfriend didn’t answer for a few seconds, until he opened his eyes and met Stoffel’s gaze with that remote look that had made its home there as of late. It sent a shiver down Stoffel’s spine, an invasive feeling that made him pull his hand away, resting it on the mattress instead.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, “I just don’t know.”

Though neither of them said it, they knew that this all came back to the change in Pierre that they had both watched happen, unable to do anything to stop or reverse it. While before Stoffel had tried to accept it, tried to accept that this was the effect the world was having on the person he loved most in the world.

“Pear I can’t sit by and watch you hurt yourself,” he said softly, feeling his chest ache as he finally verbalised those words he had felt for so long. He was struck by the sudden urge to cry, to mourn for whom and what he had lost, but he held back, biting down on his lip hard, “Please talk to me.” 

That was all he wanted, all he had wanted since he had watched Pierre retreat inwards. Since he had stopped telling Stoffel every little random thought that popped into his head, and all the silly, confusing dreams he had. If Pierre said anything to him at all, there was no substance, no meaning behind it, like he was constantly holding back. Stoffel wanted to reach out, to help him, but he couldn’t when Pierre was constantly pulling away from him.

“And say what?” Pierre snapped, suddenly driven by an aggression that wasn’t there a moment ago, “That every time I go out there I’m terrified that I’m going to see Charles’ face on one of those...those _things_. And that I can barely stand to wake up in the morning Stoff, because I have lost _everything_. And that I hate myself for what I did to him.”

“It’s not your fault. You have to know that. Please you can’t blame yourself,” Stoffel insisted, reaching for Pierre’s hand again, but this time he did pull away, like his touch might have burnt Pierre. He turned his face away too, unable to look at Stoffel’s eyes which were gleaming with unshed tears, stunned by his boyfriend’s outburst. He felt so lost, clearly as much as Pierre did. They were all so alone, even though they were part of a bigger community now, there was only a handful of people he could count on, and he didn’t want Pierre to pull away.

“That’s easy to say,” Pierre muttered, and Stoffel could see that tears were shining against his dirty cheeks, clinging to his long eyelashes. Stoffel was dimly aware of someone standing behind him, but he didn’t turn around.

“Please don’t do this. I need you,” he whispered, fighting the urge to reach out to him again. Pierre didn’t respond, he just kept his face turned away, his hand hovering over his stomach and the recently closed wound that shone out from his pale skin.

“Stoffel,” he felt a hand on his shoulder and he finally looked up to see Maxi hovering over him, looking a little awkward, and like he didn’t want to intrude.

“Sorry,” Stoffel wiped at his face hurriedly, forcing himself to look away from Pierre.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have interrupted unless I had to. But we need you, it's important,” he said as Stoffel stood up, his light accent apologetic.

“It’s okay,” Stoffel shook his head, glancing back at Pierre, who was still staring the opposite direction. As he made to leave, following Maxi, he caught Mark by the arm as he stood at the end of Pascal’s bed.

“Come and get me if anything happens,” he kept his voice low, trying not to look at Pascal, who was writhing in pain, clearly trying his best not to cry out, one of his arms entirely covered in blood, as most of the doctors and the nurses on the ward swarmed around him, “Please keep an eye on him.”

“I will, don’t worry,” Mark promised, clasping his hand around Stoffel’s shoulder, “He’ll be okay.”

Stoffel wanted to believe that so badly. But there were very few things he believed anymore.


End file.
